


Until You're Well

by Doctorinblue



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Awesome Donna Noble, F/M, Sickfic, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorinblue/pseuds/Doctorinblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an illness hit the Doctor hard, Donna is left alone to help him get well again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

He’d been dreaming. Not the awful sort that made him scream, his chest heaving, remembering all the things he could suppress in the light of day. No, it was actually sort of pleasant. There was a red haired woman, all fire and light, and a nice little lake somewhere. The details faded rapidly, pulling him away, as the waves pulled away the water.

His arm reached for the fuzzy images… that bit of happiness reality wasn’t able to share. He’d claw his way back through his own mind, if it meant he could have another couple minutes with the woman he’d never be able to have. He’d fight as hard as he could, for another breath on that imaginary beach.

But the aching in his body became too great to ignore, and he huffed out a breath, and pulled his eyes open.

The Doctor’s room was dark. He was thankful. Any light now and he imagined his head might split open, spilling his genius all over his messy floor. His bones even seemed to ache, as he rolled onto his side. This body was too new for this sort of ache to be from wear and tear even if he had been wearing it around for a few years now.

They hadn’t exactly been the easiest years, he would admit. Losing Rose, the year that never was, it all added up. It was a weight that could age a person fast, and he had already lived so very long.

But then Donna was there, and she was…something. She challenged him, and he didn’t feel quite so old. He still had some fight in him, and that’s what kept him going. But today, right now, alone in his room…he felt his every year.

The Doctor ran his tongue over his dry lips, but his mouth was so dry it didn’t seem to help. His throat felt thick, and sore, and clearing it only seemed to make it worse.

He sighed softly, throwing back his blankets. His room seemed overly cold, and he didn’t have the energy to adjust his temperature. Instead he reached for a shirt, thinking he really ought to start sleeping in pajamas.

Donna probably would slap him, if she knew, whether it was only in his room or not. He didn’t think he was in any danger, really. She didn’t seem like the type to run into his room, even if she had a nightmare. No, sometimes Donna seemed to be a lot like him. Suffer in silence, but still try to change the universe.

He pulled the shirt on, looking to the faint glowing numbers that indicated the time. He only kept it on, when there was a reason. If he had a companion, and it mattered to them, it became important to him.

He would joke about their exhaustion, but he welcomed the chance to wave them off to bed. He would often sneak to their rooms —he hadn’t dared with Donna yet- to listen to them breathe. He never knew how long he would get to keep the ones he loved, all too often it was a time too short to fathom.

But while they were sleeping, while their breathing was relaxed, and their faces were at peace, he got to pretend it would be forever.

Standing up took some effort, and some time, but finally he stepped over various parts, and made it out into the hall. It was quiet, the TARDIS humming softly.

He knew he ought to check himself out in the med bay, see if it was just some sort of flu, but what he really wanted was a nice cup of tea. He needed something that would warm him from the inside out.

He shuffled down the hall, pausing at Donnas’ room. It was unlikely that she would get anything that he would get. They’re bodies were incredibly different despite outward appearance…but he couldn’t stand the thought of her behind that door suffering.

He didn’t knock, cracking the door slowly.

She was facing him, the light from the hall slowly inching to her, until he could take in her face. Her cheek weren’t flushed; her breathing was slow and even. He watched another moment; longer than he knew was safe.

Finally he decided she was fine, and that he was stupid if he didn’t promptly close the door. He closed the door with a soft click, and headed back to his primary goal. Tea.

The kettle was on, and he was digging in the cabinets for something to ease the pain his throat, when he heard her. He looked over, to see Donna in the doorway.

She hadn’t been with him all that long, though truthfully he had lost count. Pompeii, the ood, and all the little adventures he had found just to make her smile.

She wasn’t smiling at the moment, though she didn’t look angry. She was rubbing at her eyes, in a way that made her look younger than her years.

“Spaceman?” she asked, walking into the kitchen.

The lights were dim, but not so much that she wasn’t clearly visible. At least to his eyes, he wondered if he ought to bring them up for her. He could endure the pain as long as she could see.

“Are you alright?” she asked, when he failed to answer her.

He wanted to say no. She had seen him weak before, at some very low points in his life. Being sick ought to be easy. They didn’t have to kill anyone to save anyone, make any sacrifices that he would swear would tear at least on e of them apart.

Yet, as much as he longed to be cared for, some part of him wasn’t quite able to form the words.

“Fine,” he said, hating how hoarse his voice was.

She looked him over, and then shrugged, going to dig out the mugs for the tea. What he needed to do was just get her off to sleep again. Then he wouldn’t expose her, and then he could still be the strong one.

“I don’t believe you, you know?” she said, digging out honey, and putting a bit in both mugs.

He made a face, but didn’t comment about her addition.

“Why?” he asked, looking her over.

He supposed that right there was as good as any admission might be, he wasn’t denying it after all. He wanted to drink his tea, and go back to bed, not argue with Donna.

He quickly glanced at her face, unsure of what to expect. Her eyes were red rimmed- she was clearly still exhausted. But her smile was gently, and she led him to the table.

“You’re burning up,” she told him, brushing back his hair and placing a kiss to his forehead.

He was flashed back, to his mother. Not that he thought of Donna as a mother, but the gesture brought it up just the same. Time Lords...they weren’t a very touchy bunch as a rule. But his mother, she was so gentle. He missed her even now- so many bodies, lives, friends later.

“I’ve got a bug or something,” he agreed, sipping the tea.

It was sweet with the honey, and the scratchy sort of feeling seemed to ease. He hurried to get the rest of it into him.

“Very technical for a Doctor,” she joked, sipping her own. “What can we do to make you feel better?”

He shrugged. He could argue that he wasn’t that sort of Doctor, but it wasn’t as if he did know his way around a body. Maybe he hadn’t set out to be that sort of Doctor, but with time it was just another part of who he was.

He looked up at her, a cough ripping its way out of his throat. He groaned, laying his head down on the table. He was miserable, and Donna was giving him a sympathetic look, he wasn’t ready to meet.


	2. Anger

Donna watched the Doctor, tipping her cup, until the warm tea flooded her mouth again. She wanted to reach out, had the strongest desire to mother him, but she held herself in check. She wasn’t sure how much he would appreciate it, and she didn’t want to scare him off.

They were awkward around each other sometimes, in the quite moments. If there was no running for their lives, if he took her somewhere that was just calm and wonderful, sometimes he just looked at her, and she didn’t know what to think.

She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, had agreed to friends as quickly as he had. It seemed like a silly action now, really. Agreeing to something when they hardly knew each other, and she wouldn’t go so far to say that he had grown on her, but he did have his certain appeal.

He was good to her, always encouraging her, letting her find herself while he supported her. Donna felt happy for the first time in quite a while, since Lance really. And that wasn’t even real, just a ruse that had left her heartbroken, but so much better off.

She looked over the Doctor, his head on the table, body sagging against the wood.

His tea was growing cold, but he didn’t lift his head, and after a moment she heard the soft sound of snoring. She shook her head, collecting his mug as quietly as she could and bringing them to the sink. She moved over to him, taking silent steps, though she suspected she didn’t need to bother. He didn’t flinch when her hand touched his head, his breathing remained deep and even.

He was hot, and she knew that his fever must be making him terribly uncomfortable.

His skin had always seems cooler than hers, not that she was paying that much attention…but it was overly warm now. She brushed back his hair, his cheeks slightly flushed, and the rest of his face overly pale. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked as old as he did when something was breaking his hearts.

He had a young enough face, but his soul…the weight he carried shined through in his illness.

“Doctor,” she said, rubbing his shoulder gently. “Come on, we have to get you back to bed.”

He jerked up, his breathing raspy, as he looked around the room. His eyes were red rimmed, the brown seeming to shine with their background. He put his hands on the table, his hands shaking slightly, and he worry for him grew.

He finally began to calm, letting out a harsh cough, and rubbing at his chest for a moment.

“Doctor?” she asked, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

It was a silly question, really. They both knew that he wasn’t fine, and she was worried this wasn’t some simply bug, but she thought he might respond better if he was the one to admit he might need her.

He shook his head, waving her off, and looking around the table.

“I’m fine, Donna,” he said. “Where did my tea go?”

“I got rid of it,” she said, reaching out to help him up. He jerked away from her. “It was cold, Doctor. Let’s get you to bed, I’ll make you some more.”

“I was going to drink that!” he said, his tone the sort of sharp he reserved for when they were in danger.

She sighed, fighting back the instinct to snap back at him. Yelling wasn’t going to do any good, and he didn’t deserve it. He was just sick, and the fever was probably clouding up his brain.

“Doctor,” she said. “I’ll make you more, but you need to get rest.”

He stood up quickly, knocking the chair back, and jumping when the chair clattered to the floor.

“I’m fine, Donna!” he said, huffing. He headed for the door. “Just listen for once in your life, and leave me alone!”

She stared at the space he had just been. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly. Donna walked over, carefully pulling his chair up, and pushing it back under the table, and ran her hand over the back of it.

He didn’t mean it, he was not thinking right, but the sting didn’t fade with that knowledge. If he wasn’t someone she truly cared about, she would be angry, but right now, it just hurt that he was lashing out at her. 

She looked around the room, while the TARDIS hummed low sounds she thought were meant to be a form of comfort.

“How do I help him?” she asked the empty room.

When no answers were provided, she sighed, and went to put the kettle on again.

Her hands felt too idle, just waiting on the water, so she pulled out a pot and went to search the refrigerator. They didn’t use the kitchen for much other than tea, and quick food storage, but she had cooked enough to know how to make a decent soup.

She added the ingredients, and hummed softly, turning on the heat. The kettle whistled, and she grabbed a fresh mug, adding the honey once more. She wasn’t sure what sort of medicine he could take, and she didn’t want to give him the wrong thing, so until he was going to be a bit more helpful, this was going to have to do.

She carried it out into the hall, searching for the Doctor. He wasn’t in his room, and she doubted he would want her to poke around in there, so she moved on. He wasn’t in the console room, and finally she made her way down to the library.

She pushed the door open, and it took a moment to spot his feet hanging off one of the couches closest to the fire. She stepped over the books, grumbling slightly about how she was going to have to be the one to clean them up.

He always came in here, plucking an armful of books off the shelf, and reading them in a short while, then forgetting them beside the chair.

She made her way over, his snoring louder as she got closer. He was on his back, one arm hanging off the chair, his mouth open slightly. He coughed, shifting as she sat the tea down, but he didn’t wake.

She’d like to leave him there, let him rest, but she really wanted to get him checked out. She was worried about how congested his breathing was sounding, and knew that they needed to get that fever down.

“Doctor?” she said softly, touching his leg near his ankle. “Doctor…. wake up. Let’s get you taken care of.”

He didn’t respond other than pulling his arm up to his chest, and she sighed.

She shook his foot. “Doctor?” she said. “Come on, please.”

It took a moment, but he jerked up once more. He glared at her at once, coughing until he was bent at the waist.

She put her hands on his shoulders, trying to help him up. He reached up, and shoved her away. He was weaker than normal, but she still lost a step back and glared right back at him.

“You’re acting like a child,” she said, heading for him.

He jumped up with a speed that surprised, her, and headed for the door.

“Well, you’re acting like Donna,” he said. “She’s so damn stubborn all the time.”

“Doctor?” Donna asked, anger fading quickly. “It’s me, Donna.”

He stopped and looked at her, wrinkling up his brow, before he collapsed.


	3. Chapter 3

Donna tried to make it to him, before he collapsed, but he hit the ground with a heavy thump. He looked smaller, crumpled up. She looked him over, seeing no obvious trauma from the fall —not that she would call herself and expert- and was relieved to find him still breathing.

She could feel the heat radiating off him, and knew that she had to get him to the med bay. They’d never planned for this, there was no special code discussed, if he should be the one in need of help. He was dangerous, in his own way, but since she had started traveling with him, she had felt safe. Sure, they faced danger, but she had no doubt if he was the one standing, he would do everything he could to save her.

Now she was left here, with a Time Lord out of order, and she didn’t know how to save him.

Donna tried to lift him, but he was heavier than she could have imagined. She grunted, and tugged, trying to imitate a fireman carry she had once seen in a book. It was all to no avail. She finally slipped her hands under his arms, and started tugging. It wasn’t comfortable, and if he was awake he would surely protest, but they were finally making progress.

She tugged and tugged, despite the growing pain in her lower back. The med bay wasn’t close to the library, at least on a normal day, but soon enough she came upon it. She titled her head back, and smiled at the ceiling, and lowered him to the ground, to get the door.

“Thanks,” she said, touching the wall, before pushing the door open, and grabbing him again.

She finally got him into the bright room. She had only been in here once before. At that time, there were two of the beds you’d expect to find in a doctor’s office. Now there was only one. There were counters, and shelves, and a machine she knew stored the medicine.

She had a headache when they came, and despite the pain, and brightness, she thought she had watched him use the machine well enough to do it for him.

She looked down at him, and then at the bed, and just when she was wondering how she was going to toss him up, she saw it lower. She dragged him over, rolling him up on it, with a grunt. It slowly started to raise, and she kept her hand on his chest to steady him, until it was back at its normal height.

The Doctor remained silent, fever raging through him unchecked.

Donna took a slow breath, rubbed at the tight muscles of her back for a couple seconds, then hurried into action. She walked over to the machine that went all the way up to the ceiling. There was a key pad, a screen, and all the internal stuff that she couldn’t see or imagine.

She poked at the screen, but all that came up were circles, and more circles. She sighed. She knew this was his language, though he didn’t really talk about it. She’d see him scribble in it, sometimes, when he thought she wasn’t watching.

She had thought about learning it, or trying to. She had seen books in the library, and the thought she might be able to at least get a rough understanding of it with time, but she hadn’t even begun.

“Please,” she said, slapping the machine. The TARDIS seemed to change her hum, almost to a irritated noise, but the screen changed over to english.

It was simple enough from there, species, symptoms, and finally something dropped to the little drawer below. She pulled it out, looking it over. It was a glass vial, with a dark blue liquid inside. She looked back at the machine, and then at the Doctor, and let out a sigh.

She wasn’t sure how well this was going to work, but she had to try. She went over to him, carefully laying the vial down and shaking him.

“Doctor!” she said, patting his face. “Doctor! I need you to wake up, and drink this stuff.”

He didn’t let out so much as a noise, and she sighed, propping him up.

She didn’t want him to choke, but she thought maybe he’d swallow if she put the liquid in his mouth. She popped the top off the vial, pushing open his lips, and pouring a tiny bit in. It took a moment, but she felt him swallow, and she repeated the action.

It was slow, but finally the vial was gone. She let out a breath of relief, and lowered him back down slowly. He shivered, and she looked around. She saw a light sheet on one of the counters and covered him.

She knew he wanted more, but she couldn’t pile on blankets, while the fever was so high.

She grabbed a chair, and pulled it to his bed side. She took his hand, and hoped she didn’t imagine the slightest of squeeze from him.

DW

He felt lost, the darkness around him overwhelming, his chest tight from fear and illness. He wanted to open his eyes, to figure out what was going on, but he couldn’t seem to pull them open. Outside, where he couldn’t reach, Donna stood as his hero.

Her hands were cool, breaking through the flames that seemed to lick at his skin, but only in spurts. The longer he laid there, the farther he seemed to slip. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, that he couldn’t shake, something that was meant to help him, he was certain.

He didn’t feel better though. He ought to just regenerate, at this point; at least he’d only be in real pain for a couple minutes. The agony would fade, and sure, he’d have a new body, but he could deal with that. He knew he couldn’t do that though, not waste a life just like that. He couldn’t leave Donna standing there scared out of her mind, because he was suddenly a different man.

He couldn’t give up, so he fought on, past the darkness, past the pain. He kept reaching out, and hoping he’d stumble his way out of the blackness, and into reality.


	4. Chapter 4

Donna was exhausted. She looked at the Doctor once more, his deep, almost coma like sleep had only been broken in spurts for the last five days. He’d gone to the bathroom, well, she had brought a bathroom to him, and that was about it.

She managed a few sips of water, but it was the IV, that was keeping him going. It had been a struggle to get it in, less because it was hard to find or hit a vein, more because of how much she doubted herself. She thought her hands were still shaking, though it’d been days since she completed the action.

She sighed, rubbing at her face, and carefully laying her head down on the bed. This wasn’t a comfortable position, but it kept her from sleeping more than a few minutes at a time. She was afraid if she lay down now, she might not get up for hours and hours, and in that time, anything could happen.

She started to drift off, relaxing and slumping against the bed. But it didn’t last long. The Doctor jerked, and muttered, and she lifted her head once more. She watched him, leaning up to gently stroke his face. She couldn’t understand him now, the words too jumbled, but sometimes she could.

There were times, he spoke of Rose, and he sounded so heartbroken it took her breath away. And then there were times and places, she had never heard of or known, in his words. But sometimes….he spoke of her, and she didn’t know how to process his thoughts. She felt sharp guilt for listening in, but she couldn’t leave him alone.

Soon enough, he calmed again, and she checked his temperature once more. It was some sort of flu, she knew, from the books she had gathered. They still lay open on the counters, but she couldn’t read another word. She knew he should be getting better, and it seemed like he was.

The Doctor hadn’t had a fever in at least six hours, and his lungs sounded much better too. But while he was showing fewer symptoms, he wasn’t waking. She coughed, shaking her head, and hoping against everything that she wasn’t catching what he had.

He needed her, and she didn’t have the time to worry about herself. Only she did. She’d had only herself for company really, for quite a while. She was going half mad with the lack of sleep, and she was dragging herself through her boredom in an attempt to keep awake. But she couldn’t seem to drag herself over to the machine, couldn’t examine herself, because it meant she might have to acknowledge that she couldn’t keep this up.

Her eyes slipped closed again, as he slept once more. Her chest felt tight, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Donna’s head found the bed once more, and she felt into a deep sleep, unable to stay awake any longer.

DW

The light hurt his eyes, and he blinked several times before he could see the room clearly. For a brief moment, his hearts raced in fear. He had flashbacks to a hospital, and he knew that he didn’t want to be there again. But no, he could hear the hum of his TARDIS, could see the lights lower to a more comfortable level.

His chest was tight, and he let out a cough, and rubbed it. He felt someone beside him, and reached his hand out. He felt hair, and beneath that a very warm head. He groaned, sitting up. He was stiff, and achy, but even though his memory was foggy, he knew he was better than he was.

He looked down at the owner of the head, and blinked. He knew this was his companion, but his mind couldn’t find a name.

He looked down at the IV in his arm, carefully pulling it out. The blood oozed up, but he just dropped the needle, and shuffled to the end of the bed.

Looking around the room, the Doctor sighed.

He didn’t want to wake the woman, but he was still with it enough to know that she had a fever. He needed to ask her some questions, and hopefully help her to an actual bed. She looked so uncomfortable there…even if she was a sight, with her red hair framing her face.

He reached out, shaking her shoulder, and searching for a name to call her. She groaned, pulling her head up.

She was very pale, and even if he couldn’t place her exactly, he knew that he cared for her. He knew that beyond that, it was his job to take care of her, and he was going to do that.

She rubbed at her eyes, blinking a couple times.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice still coming out hoarse.

She blinked again, and then stood up, the chair rattling behind her, nearly falling back.

“Am I okay?!” She asked, before she doubled over in a coughing fit. He reached out, a little unsure, touching her shoulder. “Are you okay?” It looked like that last words had taken the last of her energy, but she pulled herself up once more.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said. “I’ll get some medicine….you’re…human? You seem human.”

She wheezed, and looked up at him, rubbing at her chest. He tried his hardest to look somewhere else.

“Come on,” he said, gently. “We’ll get you feeling better.”

He was avoiding a name, avoiding alarming her, because the way she was looking at him spoke volumes about what he should know. He had his questions, but they could wait. He’d scan himself, while he got her something to take, and he could get most of the answers himself.

“Doctor?” she said, leaning against the bed. “Do you know me?”

There were tears in her eyes, and he didn’t know if it was from the coughing, or because she was someone so important to him, that forgetting her bordered on unforgivable. He wanted so much to utter his first word to this beautiful woman, to promise her whatever he needed to, to make her feel better, but he couldn’t.

Instead he simply took her hand, leading her down the hall. He was halfway to his room, before he realized what he was doing.

“Where…where is your room?” he asked, looking at his feet.

She had dark circles under her pretty eyes, and her cheeks were red, while the rest of her had fallen pale. She was leaning against him, though she didn’t seem to notice that at all. He could just lead her to his room, but he had no idea what sort of shape he might find it in. When his hearts were broken, it was wreck, when he was stable, so was it.

“Doctor?” she asked. “You…you forgot me?”

There were tears in her eyes once more, and he was pretty sure that this was because of him.

He took in a slow breath, which hurt deep in his lungs, and gave her a simple heartbreaking nod.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor reached out for the red-haired female’s hand. It was soft in his, the perfect size, and overly warm. It made his hearts stutter in his chest, though he wasn’t sure he could rationalize the feeling, or that he wanted to do so.

“Room?” he asked, giving a nod. He hoped he was reaching the level of detached he was trying for.

She watched him, silent for a long moment. This woman…what he knew, well that was quite a lot really. She had beautiful eyes, not just a single color, though mostly blue. Her hair was a shade of red that made him envious.

She trusted him; he could see it, feel it. She hadn’t pulled her hand away from him, and he found himself hoping that she didn’t for as long as possible.

It took another moment, but finally, she moved. Her steps were labored, her breathing doubly so, and it made him realize he wasn’t taking his role as Doctor seriously enough. He used his spare hand to seek out the sonic, wondering where his pockets had disappeared to this time, when he finally realized what he was wearing.

He was in his sleep clothes, the fabric soft against his skin, though he could tell he needed a shower from the sweating he must have been doing while he was lost inside himself.

It was a bit of a shock, to find himself out of his suit. The suit, he remembered that clearly. He remembered others. Things, but not her. Not this one.

“Did you undress me?” he asked, before he could decide if it was a good idea to pose the question.

She glanced at him, her face even paler than before. The circles under her eyes seemed to have darkened even in this short amount of time…unless his sense of time was suffering as well. He looked around, and got his bearings, while she sighed, and stopped in front of a white door.

It was really white- or maybe it only seemed that way because the rest of the doors he had come to know where brown. Never anything else. He had assumed the TARDIS enjoyed the color, or had somehow decided that brown was the only appropriate color for a door- he wouldn’t put it past her.

“I had to change you,” she said. “Though you helped a fair amount before you were too gone to help. You could use a fresh pair of pajamas though.”

He followed her into the room, large and filled with warm colors. There was a desk, with a closed laptop laying on it, and a bookshelf, filled completely. The bed looked soft and fluffy, and he wished it was his for a moment. Though, to be fair, he didn’t spend near as much time in bed as most of his companions.

He shifted, wondering if he could sit. He watched her for a moment, as she watched him. He fumbled for pockets to slide his hands into and finally had to settle with crossing his arms.

“I’ll just…be back to scan you,” he said. “Get you something for your fever, something for the illness, if I can manage it. So you just…sit tight, Miss.”

“Why did you say miss?” she asked, hoarsely. “Don’t just assume I’m single.” 

He knew enough to sigh, and thankfully knew enough not to argue with her, or ask her if she was-in fact- single.

“I’m Donna,” she said, while he watched her. “You’re the Doctor.”

“I’m aware of who I am,” he said, moving for the door.

She tilted her head, looking up from the dresser she had been digging through.

“Just me you forgot, then?” she muttered, pulling a pair of soft looking pajamas from the drawer with some effort.

“I will remember you, Donna,” he said, gently. “It’s just a side effect of the illness, I’m certain.”

“Right,” she agreed, heading for the bathroom. “Just wait on the bed, and I’ll be out in a minute.”

He blinked, and looked over at the bed, and then back at Donna. His brain was still way too fuzzy to comprehend what she meant.

“Listen,” he finally managed. “You’re lovely, but I’ve got strict boundaries, and we’re both quite ill and —“

“Doctor!” she snapped, and pointed at him. “I have never been less interested in a man’s body then I am at this moment. And we still haven’t established you’re a man…in the sense of…oh, never mind. Nice you still remember enough to think you’re god’s gift to women though. “

“I am very much a man,” he defended, with a huff.

She rolled her eyes, and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.

He sighed, wondering if it was the illness that made the heat in this room seem unbearable, as he plopped on the bed and waited for her to return.

DW

She glared at the door, before sliding down the wall and huffing. She was going downhill fast, faster than she had counted on, and right now, she wasn’t even sure she had the energy to change.

She felt tears prick her eyes, and she couldn’t decide if it was the extreme exhaustion and illness, or the fact that he had been so quick to reject her. While she wasn’t sure what she felt for him at least half the time, and she couldn’t have imagined anything ever actually happening, it still stung fiercely.

Donna shook her head, pulling off the other shirt in a sloppy motion, and working the pajama top on. She had to pause to catch her breath, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes. She glanced up at the lock on the door, and reached out slowly to try to unlock it.

She was so tired though, much too tired. She dropped her hand back into her lap, and coughed. Her breathing seemed to rattle in her chest, and she slumped to the side, too tired to stay awake any longer. Maybe the Doctor would go get his scanner thing after all, and maybe she could just catch a quick nap.

She closed her eyes, and slipped under.


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor sat on her bed, running his hands over the velvety blanket, and waiting. It was silent, and it didn't occur to him right off, just how quiet it really was. When he managed to pull himself from his thoughts, he stood up, wiping his hands on his pajama bottoms.

There was no noise at all, from the other side of the door that stood between him and Donna. He swallowed at a lump, growing in his throat. A fear for a woman he hardly knew crashed over him, nearly sweeping him away in the panic. Though that wasn't exactly true, he knew he knew her, even without the memories. It drove his worry, his need to protect someone he knew he cared deeply about.

He wanted to claim paranoia, imagine her standing on the other side of the door, quiet just to show him he didn't need to hover. But he knew something was wrong, was certain that this wasn't some sort of joke.

"Donna?" he called out, begging his ears to pick up a response. He'd take a tongue lashing, if it meant any answer at all.

When he heard nothing, his stomach dropped, and he quickly closed the gap to the door. He knocked softly, waiting a moment, before rapping louder with his knuckles.

"Donna!" he said, as loudly as his still hoarse voice would allow. He hesitated on the next words, still hoping she would react to him. "I'm coming in."

He wanted a protest, but she offered none, and he tried to turn the handle.

Locked. Had she lost her mind?! Why would she lock the door when so was so obviously very ill? She, of course, couldn't be thinking clearly. That must be it; the haze from the illness had made her lose her head.

She couldn't be blamed, he knew.

He fought back the quick stab of anger, knowing that it was only a different form of panic that was threatening to spill over from its boiling point.

The Doctor ran from the room, his lungs beginning to burn at once. Only a few steps were needed to draw from him a horrid wheezing noise.

He was far from well, and quite certain he shouldn't be up walking, much less running, but she needed him. He wasn't in the habit of turning his back on those in need- that much he still knew.

He burst into his room, thankful he still knew its location. He spotted his discarded suits on the floor, and hurried over to them, dropping to his knees. He dug through the pockets, and couldn't remember the last time he felt such relief, as when his fingers closed around the sonic.

"There you are," he wheezed, climbing to his feet.

He felt as though he could hardly breathe, but he headed back for the door anyway, knowing Donna could be in far worse shape. He almost missed it, the little white inhaler on his bedside table. He shot a quick thank you to the TARDIS, popping it in his mouth and inhaling.

It took a moment, a moment he hated to waste, but the tightness eased, until he could finally breathe again. He wanted to tuck it in a pocket, but he didn't have one, so he was forced to leave it on the table, and hurry off once more.

DW

Donna awoke to a hand touching her face. It was cool, so cool, and gentle. She took in a slow breath, managing to pull her eyes open after a moment.

The Doctor's blurry face was before her, and she thought he might be smiling. She blinked a couple times, but he didn't clear and she gave up.

"I've got you," he whispered, shifting around, until he had an arm under her legs and one under her back.

She started to protest, but found that she didn't have the strength for words. She could feel the coolness of him, even through his shirt, and tried to push more of her skin against him.

"I've got you," he repeated, as he hurried her off down the hall.

She knew he still sounded ill, knew that he was carrying her, when he ought to be resting, but she couldn't get out the words of concern.

She closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, she was laying on a bed, staring up at the ceiling. She knew this room, but the name failed her. He was holding something to her lips, instructing her to draw in a breath.

She complied, and closed her eyes again.

The next time she opened them, her head felt like it was about to split. Her stomach rolled, and she lost its contents while he held the bucket and then cleaned her up. She wanted to thank him, but she had never been so tired in her entire life.

It was a long while before she woke again, lost in a haze of dreams and almost awake. She heard him speak from time to time, but she couldn't quite respond- even when she was certain she felt his lips press against her forehead.

He made promises, she was fairly certain she wasn't supposed to hear, and she was just lost enough to play along.

When she finally woke, properly, she looked over at him. He was asleep in his chair, his long body drawn up to occupy the small amount of space. He had changed, at some point, though he wasn't in a suit- just a fresh pair of pajamas. She smiled, weakly, wanting to reach out to him.

Of all the times he looked his age, right now, he didn't. With his mussed hair, and the soft sound of breathing, he seemed so young- so very frail.

His breathing shifted, and she waited until he lifted his head. He looked her over, and then smiled. He still looked tired, but for the first time since this had all started she felt hopeful. He would remember her in time, and they could pick up where they had left off.

"Donna," he whispered, moving closer.

"Spaceman," she croaked out.

"You scared me," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her head.

She swallowed, unsure of why her heart was racing.

"Please, never do that again," he said, and she reached for him, as he reached for her.


	7. Chapter 7

He held her to his chest, and while he longed to kiss her, he knew this wasn't the time. His memories had resurfaced suddenly, while he was doing nothing more than holding her hand.

The Doctor had pleaded with her to wake up, to slap him around for even being able to forget her, but she had still laid still. Her fever had raged, and a few times, he was certain she was going to slip through his hands like some many before had —in one way or another. And then, she started to get better. Slowly, and it seemed to drag on, so much so he was about to go mad with the waiting.

But she was here now, smiling up at him, and he smiled right back at her.

"Doctor," she said her voice still hoarse. "Do you…remember?"

"I couldn't forget my Donna for long," he said, reaching his hand up to stroke her cheek.

She blinked; probably certain that she hadn't hear him right. She grabbed his arm, using it to pull herself up, and he carefully held onto her, despite the fact she seemed steady.

"I need a shower," she said, after a moment. "And some tea."

"I can help," the Doctor said, and then felt heat fill his cheeks. "I mean, with the show- no! Tea, I mean with the tea. I can make that, and perhaps a bath would be better, because you're likely to be a bit weak due to the lack of use in your muscles and the healing process, and I wouldn't want you to fall, because I care very much about you and-"

She reached up, pinching his lips shut. He huffed air out his nose, but nodded.

"I'll take a bath," she said. "You make tea, and then we clearly have to talk."

He grunted out a response, and she let his lips go.

"Would you like some help there?" he asked, looking anywhere but at her.

"I can manage," she said, slowly climbing to her feet.

She shuffled from the room, and though he refrained from helping her, he still followed behind her. Ready, and waiting, should she need him.

When she was safely in the bathroom, he patted the wall and asked the TARDIS to alert him if she was in need of assistance, and hurried off to the kitchen.

He put the kettle on, looking down at his stripped pajamas with a sigh. He felt naked, vulnerable and he hated it.

He had time to dress, he was certain. She would take a while, as she always did, probably doubly so, because she was likely to get worn out from the simplest of task.

He ran his fingers over the bottom of his shirt, and looked at himself. It would be so easy to hide. A suit, a tie, and he could guard his hearts again. It was safer, for both of them. He'd be doing her a favor, really, but acting like this was all a misunderstanding. That he didn't realize he'd been flirting for some time, that he wasn't slowly letting down his guard and letting her in.

It would be safer, better, but he didn't want that. He didn't want to miss the could be, for the ache that was sure to follow. He didn't want to miss the now, drowning in the future. Not anymore, not again.

Forever was a scary word, it brought him to his knees more than once. How long would he have without her? How badly would it hurt, to be swallowed up in the absence of her fire?

He knew it would be agony, but for the first time, in so very long, he decided it would be worth it. If she could possibly feel the same about him, he'd gladly burn right there with her, as long as they might have together.

DW

She dragged herself through a bath, thankful the Doctor had suggested it. She would have preferred the shower, always had, but she was too tired to do much more than wash as it was. Still, she could have been finished long before no, but she wasn't sure she was ready to face the Doctor.

She was confused. It wasn't as if she'd never been confused by the man before, he often went on long rants, using words she was fairly sure half of which were made up…but this was different. There were boundaries, and while she was certain they both had danced with them before, this was something new.

She didn't know what to make of it, of him, right at this moment. She had thought he was going to kiss her, when she woke —not that she would have if she had been him, not after she'd been so ill- but the hug had been nice and familiar. But there was something more there, something in the way he had said her name, and she knew they needed to talk.

They needed to see if boundaries had shifted, and if they had, then they needed to decide what they were now. She wanted it nice and tidy in her mind had been glad when he had established the no romance, because at least it was something.

Now, she needed the comfort of it, again, whatever it might be now.

She heard the knock, on her bedroom door. She glanced at the bathroom door, but though she heard him enter her bedroom, he came no farther. She knew he wouldn't, but she couldn't explain away the way her heart was racing.

Some part of her, wished he would come in. That he'd walk over and…well, she didn't know. But something romantic or passionate and she snorted at the idea. This was the Doctor.

Even if he somehow wanted more, she didn't envision him pushing her against the door and kissing her, or him buying her flowers, or heaven forbid he use three little words that she was certain would make him faint with the effort.

The Doctor was a lot of things, but she wasn't sure that list included romantic or passionate.

She climbed out of the bathtub, drying and wrapping the robe tightly around her. She didn't bother with clothes, hadn't brought any in her with her. She made sure it was completely closed and secure, before heading out of the room.

The smell of toast and tea hit her nose, and she was thankful that it didn't make her stomach roll. He was standing there, fumbling with his hands, and on the bed was a tray. There was tea, and toast, and honey, and she smiled at him.

He looked so awkward, so unsure. And she had brushed her teeth now. She slowly moved closer to him, and he didn't move when she reached her hand up to his face, the skin clean shaven as she had come to know.

He took in a slow breath, and she waited for the moment to crumble under her hand, but she was surprised when he lowered his lips to hers.


	8. Chapter 8

He pulled away from her lips, far sooner than he wanted. But she was right, and they did need to talk, before they went any farther. He slowly lowered his hands, realizing only now, that he had placed them on her hips.

With effort, he took a step back, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. She was biting at her lip, looking nervous, and ruffled, and he pretended it was the illness that made him need to take in an extra gulp of air.

"I…" he started. "Made you…" He made a vague, awkward gesture to the tray on the bed, and she cracked a smile.

He found himself smiling too, and she walked over, settling on the bed. He watched her; fear of the illness still lying beneath the surface was pushed past his other feelings. He reached out, as she reached for a slice of toast, and touched her forehead. It was warmer than his skin, but not a fever.

She chewed on the piece of toast, as he lowered his hand. He wiped them on his pant legs, and looked around her room. It was so much cleaner, and softer than his.

"What do you think?" she asked, after a moment, causing his hearts to skip a bit in his chest.

Surely she wasn't just going to jump into the conversation. He should have prepared more, explained his feelings to the mirror, before he had brought her the tray. He wasn't ready, not really. Because if this didn't go as he hoped, he didn't know how he was going to pretend that he wasn't hurting.

If all Donna really wanted, was friendship, then he would be eternally grateful for that. He would never push for more again, and would keep her in his world, as long as he could defy the universe. But it would still hurt. Nothing was going to change that.

"Well," he stared. "I…I think I love you."

She slowly lowered the toast to the plate, looking him over.

"I meant are we healed," she said. "But since we're already started, I think I love you too."

He took in a slow breath, and took her hand. And they talked. About everything that had been kept from each other for what seemed like quite a while. Time seemed loose, and without substance, while they were lost in conversation. For a short while, he forgot. Battles, and wars, he forgot that he didn't deserve to live anymore.

He was able to forgot that he wasn't worthy, when she was there with him. He needed her, and he wanted her to need him too.

DW

Donna looked him over, when he finally let her hand go. He shifted on the bed, pulling the tray up, and setting it on her table. He reached out for her, shifting them until they were laying down. She opened her mouth to protest, to say that she wasn't ready for anything farther just yet- but he did nothing more than hold her.

She let out a yawn, realizing she was still quite tired.

"What now?" she whispered, as sleep slowly crawled over her. She blinked up at him, and he gave her a small smile.

"Now, we live," he whispered. "Together. That's all that matters."

She let out a happy sigh, closing her eyes. It was nice knowing he wasn't going to run. That when she opened her eyes, he was still going to be right there. After all the mistakes she had made, that he had made, they still had a chance to be happy. No matter what happened in the end, she had her happy for the moment. And sometimes, especially for two people, trying to make the universe a little bit better, it was all that could be promised.


End file.
